


Sugar Shield

by Higgystar



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2639660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Higgystar/pseuds/Higgystar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merle helps a diabetic Daryl when he forgets to take care of himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar Shield

Life ain’t never been easy, but after the damned infection spread things just got even more difficult for him. Daryl was used to looking after himself, fending for himself and surviving anyway he could before all of this; the only difference nowadays was that he had to take down the occasional walker. It wasn’t like he was prepared for things to go down the pan as fast as it did, but as soon as Merle had shown up and dragged his ass into the truck, he’d had a backpack ready. Not that he always figured the world would end up turning to shit, but he was always ready for Merle to show up unannounced and drag him off somewhere.

It hadn’t taken long for Daryl to work out that though Merle loved him and was the only one who would ever care about him, sometimes his brother forgot the details. For example, Merle always knew where he was and knew he could come and grab him at any time, but the asshole occasionally forgot it wasn’t so easy for him to just up and leave on a whim. Fact was Merle could live his life day by day, but he couldn’t. Not without his medication.

The truck groans as it’s pushed to its limits, barrelling down the road towards God knows where as Merle drives them away from the only home they’d ever known. Time flies by them both, nothing on the radio other than warnings, nothing to say either really. Daryl knows both of them are afraid, even if Merle would never admit it out loud and is playing this whole thing off as one long vacation for the pair of them, he can feel his brother is on edge.

It’s been a long day. Heck the last week has felt like one long train wreck for him, so it’s no wonder he feels exhausted from it all. Resting his head against the window Daryl can feel his body giving in to the moment of rest, slumping in his seat and letting a small sigh pass his lips. Merle doesn’t bother even glancing his way, too focussed on the road ahead of them and the situation they were in. Daryl doesn’t care, he’s used to the silence, he and Merle didn’t need to speak to communicate and right now there wasn’t much to say.

Lifting his thumb to his mouth he begins chewing on the nail in a habit well rehearsed, frowning when he notes his hand shaking a little. He knew he didn’t exactly react to stress well, but he hadn’t thought this whole thing had affected him so much. Maybe he just hadn’t noticed before. After all they’d been so busy grabbing what the needed that they’d barely had time to think let alone take note of themselves. This was just his way of reacting to stress, so be it.

It’s been hours since they last stopped. The sun has completely gone and left them with only the moonlight and stars illuminating their way. Somehow it makes things easier, it hides the bloodstains around the roadsides and the bodies littering the streets they pass. Hiding away the truth of it all and letting them pretend that everything was going to be all right.

He’s glad Merle is driving. Right now between the tiredness and the trembling in his fingers he’s not so sure he’d be able to concentrate on the road. Not that many people were worrying about the law anymore, but he knew the truck wouldn’t be able to cope with going off road anytime soon. The way he kept shaking he’d have steered them wrong ages ago if he were in steering. Even his vision was getting a little blurry, but heck that was a part of being tired.

Everything he’d been ignoring over the past few days was beginning to catch up with him, leaving him feeling pathetic as he tried to cope with it all. Merle seems to be doing just fine beside him, face drawn into a scowl as he drives, not at all bothered with their situation. In contrast Daryl feels completely wrecked. His hands are shaking worse with every moment, making him clench his fingers into fists to try and get some sort of control over himself.

It was pathetic of him to be so affected by it all. This didn’t feel like just being tired, even if he felt like he was going to collapse in on himself any minute, it felt like a deep full bodied exhaustion. That was pathetic and he knew if he even mentioned the possibility of pulling over to Merle he was going to be laughed at for it. No point even opening his mouth.

He did feel uncomfortable though. Maybe it would be worth the mockery to be able to get out of the truck and stretch his legs, get some fresh air for a moment to try and clear his head. Squeezing his eyes shut Daryl tries to blink away the blurriness in his vision, finding that it doesn’t go anywhere and instead opening his eyes again takes more effort than it should. He feels a little light headed, and the shaking seems to be travelling up, moving over his arms and even starting in his legs. Something wasn’t right.

“Can we stop?” Daryl manages to mumble, blinking heavily and unable to stop as his body sags a little heavier into his seat. Something definitely wasn’t right with him, this felt like more than just stress, more than just worry over everything that had happened. It’s with a small groan that he realises exactly what’s happened.

He hadn’t eaten.

Merle looks like he’s about to yell, but Daryl doesn’t have time for an argument right now. He can feel himself flagging more than before, the blurriness around his vision was becoming dark and it takes more effort than it should to reach out and grab at Merle’s sleeve. He doesn’t know what he was planning on saying, but the last thing he remembers is the look of understanding and panic in his brother’s eyes.

He more feels his body slump into unconsciousness than anything else. There are a few moments of noise, he can hear Merle swearing and the truck screeching to a halt, but other than that really he can’t hear anything other than the blood pounding through his body. Hands run over his body, moving his weight, he wants to react but he can’t and opening his eyes again is too much effort to be worth it. A part of himself knows he needs to stay awake, but it’s too hard, it’s too much and before long there’s just nothing for a while.

When he comes to things are sideways and it takes far longer than he thinks it should to work out that’s because he’s lying down. Giving a murmur of discontent over his body aching, Daryl rubs at his eyes, feeling the protests through his system at moving again. There’s a small snort of a laugh from besides him, the smell of smoke fills the air and there’s only one person that would have managed to sort him out after what had happened.

“Merle?” Honestly Daryl doesn’t know why he asks, he knows it was his brother saving his ass as always, and probably pissed at him for getting himself into that state in the first place. Wincing a little he tries to sit himself up, propping up against the backseat of the truck he’d been lying on and hissing at the spike of pain he feels. Rubbing over the afflicted area he’d scowl at his brother if he had the energy, instead he simply grumbles out a criticism. “Stabbed me too hard again Merle.”

His brother snorts out another laugh, but Daryl can feel the ways his eyes are checking him over as he rights himself, making sure that he’s alright. “Deserved it for going hypo on me dumbass.” Merle tells him, flicking the ash of the cigarette out the window and tossing the now useless syringe out as well. “If you needed to eat you should’ve told me.” His brother states, turning in his seat to look at him properly and Daryl can remember all the times this had happened before.

Going hypo wasn’t exactly high on the list of things to go through for anyone who was diabetic, but it happened from time to time. When his sugars got low and he wasn’t able to rectify it in time he got the shakes, or felt weak and tired for no reason, he’d just forgotten what the signs were. Last time he’d been in his twenties, no food in the house and nothing caught, he’d been lucky Merle had been there to get him through it with stolen food from the local store.

Shrugging a little he would ask for a cigarette, but right now he had more important things to focus on. “Forgot about it was all.” He mutters, making sure his underwear and pants were back into their rightful place. He hated the glucagon injections, but when he crumpled like that he needed sugar fast and due to him being so lean the only real chunk of fatty tissue Merle could inject it into easily wasn’t exactly on show.

“Yeah well don’t be forgettin’ again. Shoving a needle in your ass cheek ain’t exactly my idea of a good time. Now sit up, drink this and then get some food down you.” Merle tells him, shoving various items of foodstuffs in his direction and gesturing for him to eat.

Taking the bottle of juice that’s shoved in his hand, Daryl considers making a remark about how Merle much preferred to shove needles into his own body, but refrains from it. Right now he owed Merle big time, starting a fight wasn’t the way to show his gratitude. “Ain’t gone hypo for a long time. Forgot what it felt like.” He shrugs, sipping at the drink and practically able to feel the sugar wash past his teeth. It seems that Merle may have thought of him after all when he’d grabbed the supplies.

Merle sighs from his seat, watching him as he drinks and nodding for him to eat when Daryl doesn’t automatically start stuffing his face. “Should have said somethin’ little brother. Even if it was just a headache, should have checked your blood levels.”

Focussing on the food in his lap yet again Daryl finds himself shrugging, never liking his diabetes being made into a big deal. Heck he preferred no one else to know about the damned problem, but Merle had to know for times just like this. “Didn’t wanna be a pain in the ass.” He mumbles. It was bad enough having to check his blood sugar levels multiple times daily, they didn’t need to waste time with him doing it when on the move as well. The world was fucking ending around them, he didn’t have time to be anything other than stable.

“Well you’ll be an even bigger pain in my ass if you go and end up letting yourself fall into a coma. You want that?” Merle barks to him and Daryl answers by shoving an entire cookie into his mouth. His brother hums in what’s probably agreement, leaving him to his meal as Merle starts up the truck again.

Daryl doesn’t bother trying to climb back into the front seat. Right now he wasn’t exactly feeling very pleased with the situation and Merle would only rib him more about it, or even worse, try to help. The world was fucked around them, people were dead or dying and they didn’t have the time for him to deal with this ongoing issue. The walkers weren’t going to stop for him to check his bloods every day, food wasn’t going to be readily available even if he always kept something in his pocket for emergencies, and heck he only had so much insulin in his backpack.

This world now was made for the survivors, the people that could get by with what little was left. As much as he liked to think of himself as tough, the fact was Daryl’s body wasn’t up to the task. He was damaged far beyond repair already and with the lack of supplies in the world and the lack of doctors or anywhere to go that was safe it was only a matter of time before he became nothing more than a problem. Sucking on a glucose tablet he checks through his bag, his supplies, his equipment that he needed to survive each and everyday. As much as he didn’t like it, Daryl was dependant on everything he had in his bag, and there was only so long it was going to last.

“Soon as we get to Atlanta and that safe zone you need to be checked over.” Merle tells him, nodding along with his own plans and looking like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Daryl wonders how much of it is ignorance and how much of his words was all show to keep him calm. “And we’ll restock on what you need for the road. Gonna need more glucagon injections that’s for sure.”

Daryl doesn’t bother to voice his worries or fears; instead he gives a feeble nod and watches the world begin to dart by past the window. The darkness helps swallow up the chaos of the world out there, but it didn’t stop it from being real. Could hide it as much as he liked, but he wasn’t made for this world.

Might as well just be a dead man walking.


End file.
